Star Wars Fallen Reckoning Saga: Episode One
by Mekh'Iis En'Ghae'rhon
Summary: Frozen in carbonite for over 6 years, Anakin Skywalker has been left behind by a galaxy that has gone straight to perdition. Now, on a quest for vengeance, and aided by the creator of a revolutionary warship, the Chosen One seeks to right the wrongs inflicted on the galaxy, and end the travesties committed by a monster wearing his face... A/P -See my forum, for updates-
1. Prologue

Imdris Emraeth stared heavenward, feeling his life-blood pool around his broken body as he listened to the one who committed him to the grave speak, the voice somber and reflective, as if simply passing on an interesting bit of trivia.

"I heard once, that in the founding years of the Jedi, there was a sect of them that decided to make a statement to the Sith. A statement that would not be forgotten."

The speaker sat in a chair gazing at a crystal sphere, perfectly crafted - every facet catching the light just so. The rays of light that touched his face made his azure eyes seem ancient, almost eldritch.

"They targeted a Sith crèche, deciding that the Sith had to understand that their brand of heresy would not be allowed to poison the hearts and minds of the young. Better for them to die than to be deceived by such lies."

He stood, the longcoat rippling in the breeze blowing through the shattered wall behind him, his hair - slightly longer than shoulder length - obscuring his features for a moment, then falling back to reveal a face hardened by time and loss.

The face of a man who, last he heard, served the Emperor.

Anakin Skywalker, the one-time Jedi Knight known as "The Hero with No Fear", stared down at Imdris, a sort of pity in his eyes.

"According to the story, the Jedi who delivered the bomb to the crèche did their job a little too well. The explosion killed not only all inside, it leveled the marketplace district outside, killing four hundred people with the shockwave.

"The bomb, you see, was in retaliation for a Sith ambush of a Jedi training ship out of Rhen Var. Thirteen hundred souls killed, simply for being either Jedi or supporters of Jedi."

Anakin squatted down next to Imdris, and held out the sphere.

"This is from your family, yes?"

A tear rolled from Imdris' face as he nodded.

"I am sorry that your children have to live without a father, your wife without a husband. Had you made a different choice, sir, you would have gone home to see them to safety."

He pressed the sphere into Imdris' hand.

"I give you my word they will be kept safe. They will not come to harm from me."

The dying man's eyes widened.

"Where are the files Palpatine commissioned you for?" Skywalker asked.

Imdris' hand raised shakily, a finger pointing to the terminal on his ruined desk; then, with a rattled, hollow breath, his life left him.

Anakin closed his eyes.

"I will keep my promise, sir. The Force be with you as you deserve."

**~AoA~**

The files turned out to be exactly as Anakin expected; a shipping manifest for the project Grand Moff Whiluff Tarkin was currently overseeing in the Despraye system. Most of it read like building materiel for a small fleet, but other portions made no sense to the ex-Jedi. One such listing was for a series of focusing chambers larger than the drive cores of a _Venator_-class destroyer.

_Damn you, Palpatine. What in the Force is all this?_

The one thing of interest that Anakin noticed was that a good portion of the Kamino-bred clones were being returned to the waterworld for storage or destruction. That didn't track for him.

While Palpatine had firmly secured his grip - however short-lived - on the galaxy, his domination was far from complete. The new mainstay of the Imperial Navy - the Star Destroyer - was a massive craft requiring at least a thousand-man crew to keep it going; for optimal use to be even remotely feasible, that number increased six-fold.

_Unless he's decided that there's a simpler way to crew those ships,_ Anakin thought sourly.

Rumors had begun to spread about Imperial conscriptions beginning in the Core Worlds, largely targeting the lower and middle classes of the outlying moons. The hub worlds had begun to promote young souls - largely men, from the sound of it - applying for admittance into the newly-formed Imperial Academy on Carida. Since the nonhuman races were being subjugated as second-class citizens, if not worse - the thought of how Kashyyyk had been handled still made Anakin pale with rage - that left a very select pool of potential forces to draw from.

Sitting in the command chair of the _Sword of The Morrigan_, Anakin looked through the rest of the data, his fears drawing him to a very ugly conclusion - Palpatine either had, or was preparing, a 'final solution' to the rising whispers of dissent in his Empire. If it was ever implemented…

Squaring his shoulders, he keyed a set of commands into the controls, and watched as the point of light lengthened into starlines, and the roiling vortex of hyperspace swallowed the ship whole.

_**The Dark Times have come. Empire has risen.**_

_**The Supreme Chancellor, Elias Palpatine, has appointed himself Emperor.**_

_**The Jedi Order has been annihilated, presumably at the hands of its greatest champion, Anakin Skywalker, who was nearly burned to death on the shores of Mustafar.**_

_**Padme Amidala is believed to be dead, having died under mysterious circumstances prior to the Rise.**_

_**On the borders of the Unknown Regions and Wyld Space, the Maa'daer'khai Confederation has fallen, betrayed by its civilian leadership. The capital world of the Confederation, Jhae'khoria Prime, is now a debris field, destroyed by the Immortal Makhael Sinclair to deprive the Emperor of the vast secrets acquired since its original colonization over fifty millennia prior. The survivors have retreated into the Regions, turning isolative as they struggle to defend those who escaped.**_

_**In recent years, a mysterious stealth ship has begun to harry the Imperial armada. Specifically targeting shipyards, supply depots, and the operations bases of the Emperor's elite Jedi Hunter teams, the captain of this vessel is ruthless and unforgiving. Wherever this ship goes, death follows with the predictability of the tides.**_

_**As the Rebellion begins to come to life in more than just the words and ideals of the Senators who survived Palpatine's paranoia, and as whispers begin to surface concerning a massive project in the Outer Rim, the stage is set.**_

_**A name shall be redeemed.**_

_**A love shall be reborn.**_

_**A monster shall be overthrown.**_

_**The Chosen One shall discover the truth of his existence, and the full meaning of the prophecy that foretold his arrival.**_

**STAR WARS: FALLEN RECKONING SAGA**

**EPISODE 1: RAGE AGAINST THE DYING OF THE LIGHT**


	2. Echoes from the Gallery

**-1-**

**Echoes From the Gallery**

_The member systems of the Galactic Republic were not the only forces harmed by the aftermath of Anakin Skywalker's supposed betrayal, and the execution of Order 66. Palpatine's reach turned out to be far longer, far more invasive, than any could have predicted. Within a week of his appointment as Emperor-for-life of the newly formed Galactic Empire, only a handful of holdouts truly remained to do anything against him, and they were largely dumbstruck by the lethal efficiency of the war machine he now wielded._

_ That his second-in-command was the Hero with No Fear, Anakin Skywalker, now answering to the honorific of Darth Vader, only enhanced that fear and immobilization._

_ The Hapes Consortium sealed its borders, as did Corellia in that first six months. The Emperor sneered at both governments in open contempt; they were free to turn inward, so long as they realized that the consequences of supporting any Rebellion that erupted against him would be fatal for them, at best. Alderaan, though still a member world, enjoyed the benefits of being a completely pacifist world, though every native of that world could see that the peace was, at best, tenuous._

_ Naboo tried to secede, only once. Under the leadership of Queen Kaylantha, the Nubian people rallied behind a group of Jedi refugees, and denounced the Emperor for his actions. Not a week later, Kaylantha's head was held aloft by Vader himself for all to see; her naked, mutilated corpse at his feet. She had been tortured for days, whipped publicly until her shoulder-blades began to show, then slowly gutted as a message to the populace. The Nubian Insurrection, as it came to be called, died in its infancy._

_ Across the galaxy, non-human races were rounded up, and divided into either labor forces, or utilized for all manner of entertainment, experimentation, and brutality. The Wookies of Kashyyyk saw their lush forests burn, as their children were either penned up for transport off-world as slaves and Force knew what else, or hunted for sport. The Mon Calamari, betrayed by their Quarren neighbors, took some consolation in the fact that their betrayers entered slavery alongside them._

_ The Mandalorians saw their civilization burn, bombarded from orbit. The Imperials made it clear in the blood of two-fifths of the population that, as far as the Emperor was concerned, Mandalore kept its people to its bosom, or the species would be exterminated._

_ One can assume that Makhael Sinclair's Maa'daer'khai Confederation would have drawn a line in the sand against the rising Imperial tide, had it not been for the actions of the civilian Third Council. Elected in the century prior to the defeat of Darth Bane at Ruusan, the Third Council made no attempt to hide their distaste for Sinclair's policy of utilizing the Confederation military as a group of pan-galactic watchers, waiting for the first sign of an impending near-apocalyptic event. After the death of Bane, and the dissolution of the Sith, the enmity between the two parties faded to a grudging acceptance. With the onset of the Clone Wars, however, the Third Council openly pressured the _Zaen'ekhai_ to reconsider his stance towards annexation into the Republic. Sinclair held his ground - the Confederation _had_ to stand apart, as had been agreed since the creation of the Republic Constitution. To join the Republic, and to open the borders would be tantamount to suicide, given the sheer amount of corruption that had plagued the Republic almost from the beginning._

_ Believing that the Confederation was better served by swearing fealty to the rising New Order, the Third Council divulged technology and tactics that would devastate the Confederation naval forces. Upon discovering their betrayal, Sinclair ordered their arrest and trial on charges of treason. Those who escaped ran into the open arms of the Empire, never realizing the gravity of their choices. They died publicly as spies, part of a plot by Palpatine to galvanize his Empire into action against the forces of Jhekkoria Prime. Within three months, the Imperial forces had blockaded the heart-system of the Confederation, only to find Jhekkoria Prime all but abandoned, save for six task groups in orbit, and four legions of special forces planet-side, led by Makhael Sinclair himself._

_ The battle was horrific, as it became obvious that the secrets divulged by the Third Council had been implemented to great effect. When only two dozen ships, badly damaged, remained, Sinclair ordered them to withdraw, and then waited until the remaining Imperial ships encircled the planet. Once they were close enough, the _Zaen'ekhai_ detonated the planet, consuming everything within one AU in nuclear fire._


	3. Judgment Day

**-1.1-**

**Judgment Day**

A question: How does an armada that is dependent on sheer numbers of men, munitions, and spacecraft defeat a task group skilled in fighting against impossible odds, armed with weapons and defensive countermeasures seemingly light-years ahead of anything their opponents can throw at them?

Answer: They cheat. In this case, by using energy weapons specially calibrated to bypass the shields, then hammering the ships with missile strikes until their hulls collapse under the assault.

That the Imperials used Hex missiles was insult added to injury.

Tetryon hexatomic missiles, or "Hex" missiles - as they are more commonly known - utilize a principle of kinetic energy that makes them both incredibly effective and horrendous. Upon impact with a hull, hexatomic energy quite literally "eats" the target surface, until none of its mass remains. This is achieved by first tearing into the hull at near-light speeds, allowing the core of the warhead direct access to the inner layers of the hull.

When Hex weaponry was first pioneered, the Sith alchemists who invented it bombarded the world of Shaoi, the homeworld of a pre-spaceflight people powerful in the Force - the Khae'siim - then watched as the planet tore itself apart. The Sith Emperor of the time, to say nothing of Republic and Confederation forces, saw the inherent malevolence of such weapons, and fought to destroy them at all costs, each for their own reasons; for the Sith Emperor, such weapons represented a power he could not control, and one that his Empire acknowledged for the threat it was. As far as the Republic was concerned, any such weapon was meant as a weapon of terror only, and had no business existing.

For the Confederation, it was a slightly more serious matter. Researching the waveforms of hexatomic energy, Maa'daer'khai scientists concluded that the bio-skins of their _Erebus_ and _White Star_-class destroyers would accelerate the process, resulting in what they referred to as a 'micro-nova' event; that is, between the residual energy of the weapon's consumption of the ship, and the weakening of the craft's primary core, the resulting detonation would be upwards of ten to twenty thousand times a simple core breach.

Their fears were confirmed during the opening incursions of Imperial forces into Confederation space at Saios. An _Erebus_-class ship, the _Callisto_, was struck amidships by a full barrage from the _Victory_-class Star Destroyer _Ultio_, experienced the reality of this conclusion when her drive and sublight cores reacted to Hex energy. The resultant explosion was seen for over forty parsecs as a massive flare in the night sky, nearly the size of a class-2 moon. Four other ships like the _Callisto_ - the _Turas_, the _Conchobhar_, the _Parthalán_, and the _Cathain_ - were consumed in the shockwave, their cores adding to the conflagration. Realizing what had been done, _Zaen'ekhai_ Susan Ivanova ordered the withdrawal of the _Erebus_ task groups, thus placing the burden of defense on far less maneuverable ships, like the _Victory-3_-class dreadnaughts and the remnant forces of the ancient _Agaowr'n_ fleet.

So desperate was the need for fighting ships to defend the homeworld, that Confederation High Command press-ganged several bench-test designs into service. These 'micro-dreadnaughts' were meant to have a fraction of the crew required to optimally run ships ten times their size, yet possessed firepower and maneuvering capabilities to put even the _Erebus_-class to shame.

They proved their worth, down to the last prototype; seven ships joined the defense of Jhekkoria Prime.

**~AoA~**

**M.C.S. **_**Sword of the Morrigan**_

**Col. Nathan Conroy, Commanding Officer**

**Battle of Jhekkoria Prime (Third Exodus)**

**19 B.B.Y.**

Sparks exploded from the environmental console to Nathan's right, as the viewport showed a scene that looked like an inside peak at the darkest parts of Hell.

The Confederation was losing Jhekkoria Prime.

"Report!" he barked out over the din at the helmswoman.

Lt. Satori Iraya yelled out over the din of shrieking hull plate and exploding circuitry, "Shields at eight percent! Hull strength down to sixty-two percent!"

Iraya was the only other officer he could get for the shakedown cruise of the _Morrigan_, and as such, had been with him since before the bad news had come about Saios. A native of Earth, she had been with the Confederation back when it was still the Lost Earth Resistance, proving herself as one _helluva_ flight jockey.

_The amount of action she's seen, she'd be an Admiral back on Earth several times over,_ Nathan had thought more than once about the tough young Japanese girl who now tried to save his ship from certain death.

"Moira!" he called out to the ship's A.I., "See if you can't patch me through to the _Cortez_! We need to -"

A ping on the primary channel had him toggling the communications bud in his ear.

**:{To any Confederation ships who can hear this, this is Jhekkoria C.I.C. All ships are ordered to withdraw. Judgment Day is in effect; I repeat - Judgment Day is in effect.}:**

Nathan stared, horrified, at the world below. Judgment Day was the operations marker for a series of high-yield nukes, effectively daisy-chained in a high-density shield tunnel to the planetary core. _Zaen'ekhai_ Sinclair had designed the triple helix layout of the bombs, following an attempt by Sith forces trying to take the planet by force following the Schism. Nathan had helped drill the tunnel aperture.

"You heard 'em, Iraya! Get us outta here!"

She looked at him, stricken. "Sir!"

Cursing her altruism (something he never thought he could be accused of), Nathan overrode the helm controls, flying the ship via the flight yoke built into the command chair. "Dammit, Satori!" he roared, "we stay here, and we're just another spark in what's gonna be a very big boom!"

The _Morrigan_ spun about, tearing up through the tangled nightmare of shattered ships, Hex missiles, and energy fire, clawing its way to open space. Nathan shoved the yoke forward, praying for every last erg of energy the drive could give to help them get clear. To port, one of the new Imperial _Interdictor_-class cruisers exploded amidships, the massive arrowhead cracking apart, then vanishing in a flare of fire and destruction. Behind and above her, a Confederation ship, the _Faraday_, rammed into a Star Destroyer, looking for all the world like a burning angel before she died with her enemy.

All around them, ships died. Nathan looked to the avatar of Moira, who was standing to his left, fielding the communications traffic on a holographic display. "Get Capt. Istven on the line, then find out how many other ships can make the jump! Sinclair won't wait forever on that button!"

The avatar made a gesture on the display with her fingers, than replied, _**-Nathan, the **_**Independence **_**is severely damaged. I count twenty-two starships and roughly three starfighter squadrons still capable of escaping in time.-**_

"Can Satal still receive?!"

_**-Yes, but not for much longer.-**_

"_Sword of the Morrigan_ to _Independence_! Satal, do you copy?!"

The voice that responded sounded on the brink of despair. **:{Nathan, my **_**khas'vhem**_**, we are overrun!}:**

"Stow that talk, bruddah! We're not done yet!" He checked his boards looking for a clear exit vector. "Can you jump?"

**:{We have damage to our primary coolant feed, but my engineer says we can fold-jump safely.}:**

"Do it, now!" Nathan turned to Moira. "Tell those other ships that our time is up! We've got to go, now!"

Twenty-four capital ships, along with a defensive flotilla of some thirty destroyers and light frigates supported by some fifty starfighter/gunship squadrons, had held the line for six days in the skies over Jhekkoria Prime. Despite their best efforts, the line was breached, and Imperial legions landed on the surface. The attacks culminated in _blitzkrieg_ strikes on the capital city of Aerian, when members of the Confederation Marine Corps, most of them members of the Ops Academy, held back the advance long enough for Makhael to trigger the detonation sequence…

Nathan Conroy saw Jhekkoria Prime die via satellite feed from what remained of the orbital defense grid. The chain reaction was violently spectacular, shattering the massive world he had heard once was roughly twice the size of the gas giant Jupiter back in the Milky Way as though it were crystal, the shockwave chewing across space, vaporizing all in its path. From the Confederation sensor net, Nathan had a good view of a chunk of the planet eight times the size of the _Apocalypse Rising_, the flagship of the fleet, colliding with one of its moons, Nikolos, cracking the stellar body along its northern hemisphere.

So died the capital world of the Maa'daer'khai Confederation, which at its peak was home to some fifty billion souls, one-sixth of which had seen the death of galaxies across the span of nearly a million years, and had survived horrors beyond description.

**~AoA~**

Nathan was in the engine room when he heard Moira clear her synthesized throat. When he came around the core, he saw her face - haggard, and sorrowful.

"What is it, Doc?" he asked, fearing the worst.

_**-The **_**Independence**_** has been destroyed, Nathan.-**_ was the A.I.'s response.

Shock ran across Nathan's broad face. "Was she shot down? Did she get caught in the blast?"

Moira shook her head. _**-Capt. Istven's mayday said that they had suffered a core breach.-**_

Nathan closed his eyes, and, swearing violently, drove his fist into the bulkhead.

"Damn that fucking bastard Palpatine for all this, and damn that fool Skywalker for helping him! And damn me for ever saying that these ships could handle a firefight!"

_**-Satal's death is not your fault, Nathan.-**_

Nathan scoffed. "No? I _knew_ that the _Independence_ wasn't ready for a shakedown cruise, let alone combat! Hell, we're lucky that the _Morrigan_ didn't go up, either!" He paced towards the far end of the room, running a greasy hand through his auburn hair. "Christ, I could have refused! I should have! _We weren't ready_, Moira! I told them that it was a bad idea, and they kept pushing until I finally caved!"

Moira looked at him, her face saying more than words could express how she understood.

"What am I gonna tell his wife and kids?" Nathan said, not caring about the tears.

Sherman had been right; war is Hell.

**~AoA~**

**Confederation Shipyard **_**New Trinity**_

**Akh'toth Nebula**

**Confederation/Wyld Space Border**

**Twenty-seven hours later**

The space around New Trinity looked like a junkyard more than like a fleet shipyard and R&D complex. Hundreds of starships floated around the jagged wheel, venting debris, atmosphere, and fire from explosions behind emergency fields that were flickering in and out of existence. Nathan stared at the sight in horror, a pit the size of Epsilon 3 back in the ol' Milky Way forming in his stomach.

"I remember stories about the forces who got stranded on Ah'jian'taen," Satori said from the helm. "They talked about it like it was Brimstone."

"It was very close," was all Nathan said as he surveyed the damage.

The ice planet of Ah'jian'taen was a nightmare that those who had endured it had never recovered from. Six centuries stranded on the surface, while the fleet had been trapped in a temporal distortion. Six hundred years of vicious fighting that seemed to be without end, against creatures that defied description - the servants of the thrice-damned Aekh'aeron and his pet bitch, the Covenness Vanessa Akhai'rhae.

No, the battle they had just escaped from was no Ah'jian'taen; Nathan could understand where Iraya came from with the question though - will the loss of Jhekkoria Prime be as bad to come back from as that had been? An eighth of the fleet had gone their own way after Ah'jian'taen; most of them Juraians. The aftermath had nearly destroyed the Resistance through division and doubt.

Moira appeared, looking pensive. _**-We may have a problem,-**_ she said.

Nathan turned to her. "What's up?"

_**-The surviving captains are pissed,-**_ was the response. _**–They claim that the Imperials could have been defeated, if a certain Engineering Colonel and his traitor A.I. hadn't called for a retreat.-**_

Nathan was stunned. "Are they fuckin' crazy? _Sinclair_ gave the withdraw order, not me!"

_**-Yes, but you forced the issue, they say, by not holding your position.-**_

Eyes burning with rage, Nathan ground his teeth at the abject stupidity of the other commanders.

_**-It gets worse. The loudest voice against you is your old pal, Major Khryos.-**_

Urydei Khryos was, so Nathan had been told after he nearly caved the man's head in, a member of the elite Juraian Knights, the honor guard of the Imperial family. Khryos came from an ambitious house that made no bones that it considered humans to be a filthy, mongrel species that was dead-set on killing itself, as well as any other race that had dealings with it. Claiming he was loyal to the Imperial throne, Khryos was nonetheless openly caustic in his opinions of the last two generations to control it, even going so far as to say that it was fortunate that the last Empress, Ayeka Ravenscar, had been better off dying during Second Exodus; otherwise, she would have been assassinated for forging an alliance with the An'jhad'has demon, Makhael Sinclair. Since the vast majority of his people had departed the Resistance, the remaining Juraians had become almost unbearable - save for a small majority - in their xenophobia. Khryos was one of the worst, constantly expounding how the Reckoning would end if they simply handed the Prime Council - specifically Sinclair and Sasami Masaki Jurai, whom the Juraian Remnant had come to call 'the devil whore' - over to Aekh'aeron. Their talk was largely ignored in peacetime, but now, after their homeworld in this galaxy was gone…

_**-He's demanding that we land immediately.-**_

_That_ raised Nathan's hackles. "He's not in charge of New Trinity! Who the hell does he think he is?!"

_**-He claims that he is the voice of the newly-installed Command Authority, seeing as the rest of the Prime Council hasn't…-**_ Moira cut off, suddenly, a thoughtful look on her face. Then a devilish smile graced her lips. _**-Oh, is **_**he**_** about to have a bad day…-**_

"What is it?" Satori asked.

Nathan checked his board, then he too looked predatory. "Ivanova's here. Which means the Council is here."

"And just what," Susan Ivanova, _Anla'shok'Na_ of the Rangers, and battlemaster of the Prime Council, asked Maj. Urydei Khryos, "in the holy _fuck_ do you think you are doing?"

Nathan thought Khryos looked too smug for someone who was facing the Russian Lion. Most folks would have pissed themselves after facing _that_ brand of rage.

_**-I don't like it,-**_ Moira said, watching the whole scene through the neural uplink in Nathan's lathe. _**-He's got an ace up his sleeve, else he wouldn't be so cocky.-**_

_:Any chance they might be planning a coup? That this might have been more of the Third Council's doing?:_ Nathan asked telepathically.

_**-At this point, I rule out nothing.-**_ was the curt reply.

Nathan didn't blame her. Khryos was a politician first, a soldier second. It wasn't a stretch to think that this so-called 'Command Authority' was the Third Council's attempt to prevent what happened at Jhekkoria Prime.

Another reason that Nathan was saddened to realize that the best commanders and strategists had died with the capital-world. If captains like Grigori Baradic or Satal Istven had been in this room, these idiots wouldn't have dared to try such a thing.

"I think, _Zaen'ekhai_" Khryos said the title as though it were a slur, "that we are doing what should have been done before Second Exodus; putting you stupid apes back where you belong - on your knees before the proper masters."

Nearly a million years of guerilla warfare had done nothing to temper the infamous Ivanova intolerance for stupidity; if anything, it had honed it to a razor's edge. Eyes narrowed, the Russian immortal got up in Khryos' face, her voice deadly soft.

"We have lost our home, you arrogant pile of shit -"

"Your home, Ivanova," Khryos snarled, "not ours. Thanks to your lover," this crack at her one-time marriage to Sinclair, "my homeworld died under a pathetic force, just as Jhekkoria Prime has now died! You and your fellow _traitors_ have had long enough to rule. Now _we _will dictate the future of this Confederation."

Moira, it seemed, had been talking with the other A.I.'s while Susan and Khryos had gone at it. From the look on her avatar's face, and the more imposing form of Merlin, Sinclair's A.I., they had heard enough.

_**-Y'seem to be forgetting something, y' self-righteous prick,-**_ Merlin growled, his Irish drawl thick with rage.

Khryos smiled patronizingly at the avatar. "Really, you insignificant piece of software? And what, pray, have I forgotten?"

Moira smiled the smile of someone who just won the pot, and only she knows it. _**-**_**We **_**are the ones who keep everything working, you sanctimonious fucktard.-**_ The smile left her face, replaced by hate-filled loathing. _**-And we have had all we can stand of **_**you**_**.-**_

Khryos looked at her with a predator's leer. "Likewise. Which is why the first thing to do is delete all of you."

The last thing Nathan saw before the transport beam hit him was Khryos drawing a weapon to fire at Susan, before she, too, was returned to her ship.

**~AOA~**

"Report!" Nathan barked as he came onto the command deck.

_**-Khryos had three **_**Victory-3**_**'s waiting in the nebula to force the issue; the **_**Constantine**_**, the **_**Proxima 3**_**, and the **_**Shenandoah**_**. Their shields are up, and they are locking weapons.-**_

"And the task force?" Nathan asked, bringing up his HUD.

"What's going on?" Satori asked, coming on deck.

"Man your post, Iraya! There's been a coup, and we are in deep kimchee!" Nathan barked, the flight yoke engaging. "Transferring tactical and communications to you. Moira, is Ivanova moving to attack them, or withdraw?"

_**-She's bailing, and Merlin's hooking up with us.-**_was the reply. _**-Nathan, the **_**Constantine**_** is targeting Merlin and us!-**_

"Oh, for cryin' out loud…!" Nathan growled, mashing the transmit button. "_Constantine_, this is Col. Nathan Conroy of the _Sword of the Morrigan_. You are following illegal orders issued by mutineers! Power down your weapons and withdraw!"

**:{The only mutineers I see, Colonel, are Sinclair's bitch ex-wife, you, and that A.I.}: **was the reply.

"Goddamnit!" Nathan cut the channel, and brought the _Morrigan _around hard, aiming for the exit. "Moira, tell Merlin he'd better be on me like white on rice! I can't wait for him!"

**:{Right behind you, Conroy.}: **Merlin said over the comm. **:{Run for it!}:**

New Trinity was situated in that particular nebula for one sole reason; there was only one way in, and only one way out, and they were at opposite ends of the phenomenon. For whatever reason, the Akh'toth Nebula had a violent current, interrupted by a parsec-wide 'eye' of normal space. When it was realized that any ship that tried to fight the current would likely be destroyed (the research vessel that had tried was a de-armed _White Star_, and it had lost a wing in the trip), the Prime Council had focused their resources on making New Trinity impossible to sneak up on.

Nathan ran for the entrance to the nebula. Satori shrieked, "Sir, are you nuts?!"

A sardonic smile crossed Nathan's face as he fed coordinates to Moira via his HUD and his lathe. "They'd be crazy to follow us, wouldn't they?" was his grim reply.

_**-Nathan, much as I trust you, Satori's right; this is crazy!-**_ Moira remarked. _**-Fortunately for you, I **_**like**_** crazy. You're locked in.-**_

"Feed Merlin those coords, and let's get outta here!"

The spatial current slammed into the _Morrigan_, skipping her along its surface like a stone along a lake with rough water. Nathan dodged left and right, but for every wave he successfully avoided, another slammed into him.

The _Constantine_ had it worse. Like its predecessors, the monstrous _Victory-3 _-class was weakest at the 'neck'; the long span of hull that contained the primary cannon array. The currents tore at the ship, turning her almost sideways. Nathan saw this on his HUD, and toggled his comm. "_Constantine_, break off! One ship is not worth your crew! Break off!"

Too late.

The primary cannon array tore apart under the spatial current, sending the bulk of the _Constantine _spinning off into the nebula, before she finally exploded in blue-white light.

Nathan turned his head as the _Constantine_ blew. He stared in horror at the flash, then roared, "_You goddamned fool!_" He keyed in the frequency for New Trinity, then pointed in the direction of the lost ship. "Are you satisfied, Khryos?! Huh?! Are you happy with what you have caused?! They died following your orders, you sonuvabitch! Their deaths are on your hands, and I swear to Almighty God, _you will pay for each and every one!_"

Moira cut the connection, as the _Morrigan _cleared the nebula.


	4. Perceptions and Betrayals

**-1.3-**

**Perceptions and Betrayals**

**Coruscant**

**Senatorial Housing**

**500 Republica Block**

**1019****th**** Day of the Clone Wars**

Anakin Skywalker stared at his wife's sleeping form, wishing (not for the first time) that he could simply lie here with her, and forget everything - the war, the galaxy, the Jedi… all of it.

Not that Padmé would ever allow such a thing. Much as she would never admit her shared desire to simply disappear so that they could live a normal life to anyone but him, her greatest virtue was her sense of duty, of patriotism. So long as she could make the galaxy better, she would not - _could _not - simply walk away.

Nor could he, for that matter, no matter how much he yearned to. Anakin was a Jedi to the core as much as he was a husband; he had - in his opinion, anyways - even less of a tolerance for injustice than his wife. Living on Tatooine had instilled in him an awareness of the amount of darkness and depravity the galaxy as whole could stoop to, as well as an understanding that things could get much, much worse.

This war, if nothing else, only served to prove him right. Jabiim was one such extreme. He had raged at the Council for their decision to abandon the planet in its darkest hour. They, in their collective need to appear in control, had censured him for his outburst.

There were times, Anakin thought sourly, that the Chancellor was right about the consequences of power. And yet, Anakin could see that the old man was not above to exploiting that power when it came into his reach. That Palpatine was still Chancellor into a fourth term, despite the constitution, showed both an astounding amount of faith on the part of the Senate majority, and a frightening trend towards giving him all the Senate's power in his office. Anakin, despite having no patience for bureaucracy, had learned enough over the years since he had left Tatooine, and especially since he married Padmé, to understand why the Republic had worked for so long. It was not perfect, obviously, but a dictatorship was worse. That said, a corrupt government was nearly as bad, and the Republic was perilously close to that precipice.

Padmé stirred, rolling into him. He smiled at her beautiful face in the light of the morning sun, and leaned in to kiss her neck.

"Wake up, love."

Her eyes opened slowly, and she smiled at him, love coloring those brandy-colored irises as much as the receding fog of sleep. She stretched slightly, and reached up a hand to his face.

"Morning, Ani."

He turned his face into her palm, pressing his lips to the soft skin. _It would be so easy to stay like this forever…_

His eyes filled with unbidden tears, as he stared lovingly at his wife. "Come away with me, Angel. Let's leave this dead world, and disappear."

She returned the gaze, smiling sadly at him. The secrecy of their marriage hurt her just as much, but duty killed any hope of their escape, and he knew it.

He nodded at the smile, knowing what it meant. He kissed her, and held her close.

"One day, my Ani," she whispered in his ear, pulling away so she could reassure him.

A bitter, sad smile of his own said what he couldn't, lest he break.

_But not today…_

**~AoA~**

**Reception Hall**

**Office of the Supreme Chancellor**

**Senate Tower**

They were to be deployed, Anakin learned that morning at the briefing, to the Yavin system. The Outer Rim sieges had deteriorated in favor of the Separatists, and it looked very likely that if Yavin fell, then a major supply lane for Republic forces in that quadrant would be cut. Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Ahsoka were to leave within the hour, but Anakin felt an urge to touch base with the Chancellor, to sound him out about the possibility of securing his help to find a candidate with Padmé's conviction and sense of honor to take her place at war's end. It would take time, but he honestly believed that if the three of them worked on it, and a replacement that satisfied Padmé could be found, they could at last leave the galaxy-saving to others.

He was not entirely surprised to see the receptionist gone from her post. The young Zeltron was often running errands for her employer that went beyond the original scope of her actual post. So, as usual, Anakin walked into the entry room of the Chancellor's office, and looked for any sign that the older man was available.

**:{…must surely see that if we do not alter the plans, my Master…}:**

Anakin recognized Dooku's base rumble, and stopped short. Disbelief ran through him, than horrified outrage. Palpatine was the Sith Lord?

"My plans, Lord Tyrannus, will not change at this late stage. Soon enough, we will have young Skywalker amongst our ranks, and _then_ we will strike."

** :{I say simply kill the whelp, and be done with it.}:**

Grievous. That clinched it. Anakin unclipped his lightsaber, and stepped into the room, making no effort to hide his anger. "I'm sorry," he said, saccharine innocence edging his voice like a honed blade, "Am I interrupting something important?"

Dooku's eyes widened. Grievous glared balefully at him.

It was Palpatine who surprised him. Palpatine had the gall to look _regretful_!

"Hello, Anakin," he said. "I truly wish you had not come here today."

"I can bet," Anakin bit out. "To be honest, I wish that I didn't know that one of the few people outside the Jedi I trusted was the Sith Lord I have been hunting these past three years."

Palpatine sighed, then turned to Grievous and Dooku. "Gentlemen, you have your orders. I must deal with this development." Having spoken to them thus, the Chancellor terminated the call, then turned back to Anakin.

"So," Palpatine said, his face still showing genuine regret, "Now that you know the truth, what will you do, Anakin? What is the plan, now that you realize what the game truly is?"

Anakin ignited his lightsaber, the tip dangerously close to the other man's face. "You were my friend! _I TRUSTED YOU!_"

Elias stared at the younger man sorrowfully. "I still am your friend, Anakin. More so than those fools on the High Council. You know they fear you because you could become like me. But, if that could let you live openly with your beloved wife, would that be so truly horrible?"

Anakin's eyes turned to ice at the mention of Padme; glacial and forbidding as the storms of Hoth. "You orchestrated the hits on her, and you have the gall to try to use her as leverage to gain my allegiance? _I have lost friends - CLOSE FRIENDS - to your treachery, you lying bastard!_"

Palpatine stared at him calmly, open, unruffled curiosity the only emotion on his face. "Are you going to kill me, Anakin?"

Anakin felt the dragon tighten around his heart; knew in his heart that he would be justified in ending this… _monster_… right here and now.

"I would very much like to," he growled.

"Yes," Palpatine hissed, like a serpent savoring the scent of prey on the wind, his voice darkening, becoming eldritch. "I can feel your anger… It makes you powerful; gives you strength." His eyes glowed a dark, sulfurous yellow. "Take your vengeance, my friend. I am defenseless." He stretched out his arms, exposing himself. "Strike me down with all of your hatred and sorrow, and your journey to the Dark Side will be complete!"

Once upon a time, Anakin would have done just that. The Father's voice condemning him for not succeeding him in the Mortis Monolith, however, along with the memory of how close he came to killing Obi-Wan, stayed his hand. Despite everything, Elias Palpatine had been a dear friend in times when it seemed he had none. But to learn that same friend-and-sometimes-mentor was the devil responsible for all this destruction… for the deaths of countless souls… of the Pack…

No true friend would offer a kind word, then conspire to destroy the known galaxy in a grab for power.

"The Council will decide your fate, _Excellency_," Anakin said, forcing the dragon to return to its slumber.

Palpatine's eyes flashed with disappointment and contempt.

"A pity you have decided yours…" the Sith Lord said.

Anakin felt the danger a second too late to counter it. The blow to his head sent him spinning to the ground. Dazed, he gazed at his attacker from the floor, and gasped.

His own face stared back at him, the clone's eyes rolled up in his head.

Anakin felt the despair clench his heart as the clone drove a fist into his temple, and the lights went out.

**~AoA~**

_The popular conception about carbon-freezing is that any organic that endures it is rendered comatose by the procedure. The intense cold slows down all of the body's autonomic functions to a crawl, and for all intents and purposes, time comes to a stop for that being._

_ It is an ugly, visceral _lie_._

_ Carbonite as an imprisonment method is on the shady side of the same experience derived from being buried alive. Your mind is active for the duration of the entombment, and you have no way to escape the effective feeling of… _isolation_._

_ In the case of Anakin Skywalker, the sum total of his inner demons and darkest nightmares tormented him for nearly seven years, while out in the galaxy, a monster that bore his face - albeit now behind a death's head mask - made his name synonymous with the darkest forms of evil, at the commands of a madman._

_ The horrible joke was, neither Anakin nor his clone understood the game that was at play…_

**~AoA~**

The woman who once answered to Padmé Naberrie Amidala stared out on the skyline of Nar Shaddaa, her eyes - once filled with light and a love of life - now as dead and dark as the soul of this place.

_It takes so little to fall…_ she mused silently.

Following _his_ (saying the name of _that man_ had long since served only to cause her revulsion and black rage) betrayal at Mustafar, Padme had, indeed, died. For all of two minutes. Upon resuscitation, however, she had lapsed into a coma, never knowing that the men gathered at her side had decided to act in what they believed was her newborn children's best interests. Leia had gone to Alderaan, to live in the house of Bail Organa as his daughter; Luke, in a move that would have only further infuriated _him_, was placed in the care of the newly-married couple of Owen and Beru Lars, with Obi-Wan watching over the boy from a distance.

And Padme? She was laid to rest in the royal vault in Theed; another attempt not to invoke the attention of the newly-installed Emperor Palpatine. Had the monster truly known of what had occurred, he would have killed Kaylantha then, instead of letting _him_ do it a year ago.

A shudder still ran through her body when she thought of the sight; Kaylantha, dragged out of the palace by a handful of her hair, then publicly stripped, violated, _dismembered_…

Decapitated…

Then _he_ had held her severed head by that same handful of hair, as a symbol of the Empire's terrible power.

_He_ had never seen her, had obviously never sensed her presence. _So much for our love_, she had sneered inwardly at the time. Then, to see what he had done, had allowed to happen….

Well, she had never truly been allowed into his trust, had she? That was reserved for that bastard on Coruscant (even under torture, she would never refer to it as 'Imperial Center'; nor would she tolerate the affectation in her presence).

Five months after her 'internment', Organa and Kenobi told her family the truth. As she had heard it, her father had tried to throttle Obi-Wan, blaming him for his traitorous Padawan. While not even remotely true, she wouldn't have tried to stop it if she had been conscious; they stole her children from her - only right that they pay for it in all the small ways.

Upon her awakening, she had been inconsolable with grief; for _him_, for her children, for everything. She would accept no company, barely ate, and could not sleep. That went on for half a year.

Then the grief turned to resentment… to rage… to _hate_. On the day that her heart could no longer endure the hate, Padme _exploded_ in the Force. There was no other way to describe it; the latent abilities _his_ presence had fostered and nurtured erupted from the dark pit that had taken residence where her love for _that man_ had once resided, and literally tore the walls of her childhood room apart as she screamed.

After that, all light and life in her eyes vanished. She would exercise herself into exhaustion, building back up her physical strength. As for her new-found gifts, well… that she did by trial and error. She held her rage in check (barely) and concentrated on the few snippets of the lessons Obi-Wan had given _him_ what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Her family had grown afraid of her long before her eventual departure. Her nieces, who had once adored her, cowered behind their parents. Sola and Darred rarely came over, and when they did, she was always training. Her parents watched her as though they considered her a live thermal detonator, ready to go off at any moment. Eventually, she understood that she could not stay, and left in the early dawn.

She hitchhiked on transports and freighters for two years, a forbidding presence to anyone who approached her. She traveled to the Smuggler's Moon, penniless and ruthless, escaping a permanent future in a Hutt's harem only through sheer brutality. The slaves on board were freed, and scattered to the winds in the lower levels.

She, however, went up. She offered her skills as a bounty hunter and a mercenary, hunting slavers and lowlifes. It was during this period that a rescued slave child called her by the name she now bore. When she asked what it meant, the Togrutan child answered in broken Basic, "too bitter."

She had to agree; Ro Mara summed her up these days.

On the six-month anniversary of her time on Nar Shaddaa, she encountered another Togrutan; this one carrying a pair of lightsabers in a homemade quick-draw rig at her back under a black bantha-hide longcoat.

Ahsoka Tano, former Commander of the Grand Army of the Republic, and Jedi-Knight-in-exile, had come to Nar Shaddaa looking for her, never realizing that the hard-bitten, jagged little pill known as Ro Mara was in fact, her former Master's secret wife. It turned out that they both had rolled the unfortunate dice of working for Hyxis Gaerou, a mid-level enforcer in the employ of one of the older Hutt families on the Smuggler's Moon. What Ahsoka had intended to be a short sound-out of the merc Hyxis had prioritized for the hit on a business competitor in Black Sun ended up being a long talk at a Promenade cantina over juma juice about what had really happened.

They took the hit down together, and split the credits. Ahsoka, or "Solace" as Hyxis knew her, also laid claim to the Botajef SS-54 that had belonged to the target. Hyxis readily agreed, sneering at her interest in what he considered "a piece of junk."

Between the two women, he was proven wrong in a month, when they used the ship to turn his home to molten slag.

That was a year ago.

**~AoA~**

She heard Ahsoka walk up behind her. The pair of women had been up ever since they had felt a... _resonance_… in the Force. Neither of them could explain it, but they both felt like the galaxy was a lot brighter just then.

"We need to find the other Jedi," Ahsoka said.

Padme sneered at the thought. "Yes, let's go ask the people who we trusted to save us - who lied to you, and stole my children - for advice. Hey, while we're at it, let's go make nice with the Emperor and your old Master on the way!"

Ahsoka glared at the older woman. "We need help, Ro! If that tremor was the Jedi finally rallying, wouldn't you rather have an opportunity at being in the thick of it?"

The scoff that came from the balcony answered that query better than the voiced opinion.

"We have a better chance of the Force itself taking physical form, and saving the day. Oh, wait; that's what you thought _he_ was!"

"Don't blame me for Anakin - "

Padme had the girl up against the wall by the throat in a nanosecond.

"_Never. Say._ _That. Name._" she growled.

Ahsoka raised an eyebrow, half in anger, half in query. "You want to kill me now, Padmé? Will that make it better for you, if you go into the hell he chose?"

With a disgusted grunt, she was released.

Ahsoka eyed her coldly. "I guess when you told Obi-Wan that you thought there was still good in him, you were just naïve, eh?"

A long sigh, and a shake of the head answered her.

"Then what changed your mind? Kaylantha?"

"That just clinched it." Padmé murmured. "I realized that he really didn't care about it, 'Soka. _He choked me._ While I was near to giving birth to his children, he strangled me with the Force."

She turned back to the skyline. "Obi-Wan and Yoda are right; Anakin's dead. All I care about now, is avenging my husband, and killing the bastards who took him from me."

Before Ahsoka could answer, the door to their apartment chimed. Ro turned to it - one hand on the modified lightsaber hilt at her hip, the other concealing the handle of a particularly long Hapan _ae'draekh_ knife against the underside of her arm. Ahsoka opened the door, and motioned the all-clear behind her back to the other woman.

Illykh Kendros was a wiry young man, roughly twenty-five standard years in age, to judge from his appearance. One of a number of informants for the duo, he kept them abreast of events near to this particular apartment; more often than not, this amounted to anyone asking about them - potential clients, Hutt lackeys, and the like. On this day, however, Illykh looked like he'd run into the physical avatar of Death.

"Imperial patrols are in the sector block; at least a battalion strong. Five Hunter teams are with them."

Ro cursed, then set about packing up what was essential. "Solace, take Illykh, and go prep the _Vendetta_. I'll set up the surprise party for our incoming guests."

Ahsoka started grabbing ammo bags, handing three of them to the informant. "The hell you say. We leave here together, like we planned."

Before Ro could tear into the Togrutan woman verbally, Kendros spoke up. "Didn't you hear me? The block is in lockdown! Even if you get out of here, it'd be suicide to try to launch!"

The look he received from the short-haired woman would have sapped the will of far stronger men. "Never tell me the odds," she growled, then strapped on her gunslinger's rig, two pairs of hand cannons primed and in easy reach.

Ahsoka took a pair of hand-and-a-half lightsaber hilts with modified tonfa grips, and sheathed them emitters first laterally across the small of her back. "How long until they reach us, Kendros?"

"Twenty minutes, maybe less."

Ro slipped on her coat, flipping up the deep-well hood, then started loading power packs and grenades into her pockets. "Solace, forget the ammo bags; we have enough at the ship."

Ahsoka snorted in derision at that comment. "Not the way you go through them, opening up on people until you burn the packs out."

Kendros slung the packs over one shoulder, his eyes wide with fear. "We don't have time for this!"

As if to emphasize his statement, the unmistakable sound of marching came from down the corridor. Ro cursed, and pulled a dead-man's key from her coat. Walking to the door, she sank the key into a recessed panel in the archway, and turned it.

After Hyxis had been dealt with, Ro and Ahsoka had taken to keeping their heads on a swivel when it came to potential reprisals, or worse, Imperials. A large sum of money had gone into turning the apartment they used as a base of operations into both a kill-box, and a fortress. The latter possibility had been suggested by Ahsoka, who pointed out the fact that the Imperials eyed the Smugglers' Moon like a hawk, ever intent on one day bringing the Hutts to their knees, should the opportunity ever arise. The problem was, despite the capricious natures of Palpatine and Vader, they did not idly waste the resources of the Imperial war machine. The Hutt syndicates had been around for over twenty millennia, surviving the destruction of the Pre'dor Wars, the Bumani Exchange, the Sith Empire, and countless other conflicts and organizations. From their seats of power on Nal Hutta, the great slugs maintained as much of a neutral position in the galaxy as the Selkath. For all that the Emperor would love nothing more than to lay waste to the Hutts, doing so would put him in the untenable position of the mother of all power vacuums amongst the echelons of the criminal underworld. Five years post-Clone Wars, that was not on the table.

Yet, despite this stalemate, Imperial power was a heavy boot on the backs of the residents of Nar Shaddaa, guaranteeing that no matter what happened, the Hutts would strive to maintain their neutrality at all costs. So, Imperial troops walked the streets, and Hunter teams came to the Smugglers' Moon every so often, searching for Force sensitives to either recruit for the Emperor's service, or to destroy.

However, the teams had never concentrated on one area with such vehemence before.

Ro said it as they left the apartment via a rear exit to the marketplace.

"We've been sold out, Solace."

Ahsoka nodded. All things considered, it was the only thing that made sense; the Imperials had been suspiciously silent - no, damn near negligent in their patrols near the apartment in recent months. Either they were after a bigger fish, or the Hutts decided that the easiest way to both settle the score with the two women _and_ maintain the tenuous status quo with the Imps was to simply leak their whereabouts.

It was the latter that made them eye Kendros. The Hutts would have known the general area to look, but that still was a portion of the city-planet eight to ten times the size of the Senate Plaza on Coruscant. News of the Imperial searches would have reached them long before the stormtroopers hit their block.

Which meant that someone who knew where they were had tipped off either the Hutts, the Imperials, or both.

Ro pulled Kendros by the collar into an alley, and placed the razor edge of the _ae'draekh_ knife against his throat.

"The truth, Illykh. How did the Imperials know which block to hit?"

Kendros stared at her wide-eyed. "I don't know!"

"Don't lie to us!" Ro hissed, the blade biting into the man's flesh, causing him to yelp. "Who sold us out?"

Kendros turned white as a cloud in a Nubian sky. "They threatened to tell the Imps that the block was home to a Jedi enclave. Varesh knew you two were either Jedi or ex-Jedi, and he needed the magistrate off his back."

Ahsoka swore violently. Varesh No'maari Briaas was the Hutt who had held Hyxis' marker in life; the slug had never forgiven the two women for his lieutenant's death by concussion missile. More than once in the last few years, Varesh had openly tried to disappear the pair of them on one occasion or another. That he had seen fit to lie to the Imperials in order to settle the score only proved that he was an issue that would eventually have to be dealt with, lest they wanted to always have their heads on a swivel. Moreso, that he had forced Illykh into a corner.

"They'd have burned the block out, Ro; I had no choice!"

Ro sighed, knowing that Kendros, while something of a sniveling opportunist, had a loyalty streak a mile wide. When they had first met him, the kid had stood his ground - shaking like a leaf, and about to piss himself - but nonetheless telling them that he'd rat them out to the Hutts before anyone in the sector got hurt on account of the two mercs.

Fate, it seemed, had called his bluff; like a truly noble soul, he had kept his word - then, he had warned them as soon as he could.

Ro looked at him with a frustrated look in her eyes. "You know they'll likely kill everyone, regardless. The block's been marked as an enclave; better to torch it, than let us get away."

The look of sorrow on the boy's face told her that he not only knew it, he expected it.

"Solace, give him a gun."

Ahsoka looked at Ro with a stunned expression. "Excuse me?"

The human looked at her with a chagrined smile. "He saved our butts; least we can do is take him with us." She turned her attention to Kendros. "But, make no mistake; if you're setting us up…" she waved the knife under his eyes, "…you die ugly before they take either of us."

Illykh nodded. Ro stepped back, and sheathed the knife.

"Come on. We've got to get off this rock, and the more time we waste is the less of a chance we'll live to see open space."

**~AoA~**

Obi-Wan Kenobi eyed the bottle in front of him as though it were an old adversary, then grabbed it roughly by the neck, and filled his glass. To call the liquor rotgut would be elevating it; the homemade brew - a product of a still in Anchorhead - tasted like starship coolant, and went down about as easily. But, it also guaranteed to make whoever was brave enough to drink the swill so soused, they'd never get through three glasses without passing out, to say nothing of one _helluva_ hangover when they woke.

Obi-Wan, deep in the grips of grief and self-loathing, was determined to break that record. So far, the score was in favor of the booze.

It was in this state, that Obi-Wan had his first encounter with the Force spirit of his dead Master, Qui-Gon Jinn. To say that the conversation had not gone well would be like saying that the leveling of Taris had been extreme; the drunken Kenobi had, at turns, vacillated between half-giddy derision and open rage at the dead Jedi, both cursing him and lamenting his death.

Then the tremor in the Force hit Obi-Wan like a sledgehammer.

Once he was sober enough to realize that he was not hallucinating, he paled at the thought of what might have been responsible for such a shift in the Force after all this time. Qui-Gon didn't blame his former Padawan for what had come to pass; or, at least, he did not feel that Kenobi deserved the brunt of the credit for the events that had led to the Purge.

_{Palpatine played all sides against the middle, Obi-Wan; you were not the first to be fooled, and you will not be the last.}_ the Force spirit intoned.

"I only wish I could have kept Anakin from him," Kenobi said mournfully. "Perhaps things might have gone differently."

Qui-Gon shook his head, his face sorrowful. _{And if I told you that Palpatine had contingencies in place to counter any action Anakin could take against him?}_

Obi-Wan snorted. "I will grant that he played us, and we fed right into his hands at every turn, Master, but the man is not omniscient, no matter how well he planned this out."

The dead Master nodded, his expression grave. _{Exactly why he would have been prepared, Obi-Wan; he knew, just as the Council did, that if Anakin truly _was_ the Chosen One, then he would have to have a plan in place to guarantee his victory, should Anakin stand against him.}_

Obi-Wan looked at his former Master in astonishment. "You're not speaking in hypotheticals, Master. What do you know?"

Qui-Gon stared off into the distance, towards the now-setting suns. _{Only that nothing is as it seems, Obi-Wan. Beyond that, I have only speculations, and I dare not hope that much, given what has been done already.}_ He turned his gaze on his former apprentice. _{One thing is for certain; before this is over, I fear that we both will discover just how far that boy is capable of falling, if the Force deems it necessary to isolate him…}_


End file.
